


In Hiding

by mneiai



Series: Valg Drabbles [2]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Blood, Book 3: Heir of Fire, Drabble, Gen, Not Beta Read, Valg Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 02:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21206240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: Iron suppressed magic, but his magic had been suppressing something else.





	In Hiding

**Author's Note:**

> Idea I had while writing Biding Time, that the iron in Dorian's blood stream during Heir of Fire did suppress his magic...but by doing so made the part of him that's Valg stronger.

Dorian thought he would keep feeling worse as the amount of iron in his body rose, but instead he just felt...different.

He hadn't thought he was used to magic enough to tell that it was harder to access, so it was hard to say it was that. And at times that coldness inside of him seemed to be expanding when he had expected it to shrink.

But then one day, during his morning sparring with the guards, he was sliced across the arm with a too-sharp training sword. He paid it no mind, at first, waving off the guard's concern and heading back towards his rooms.

He didn't mean to run into his father, certainly, and not when a slow-growing near-black stain showed so clearly against the white of his sleeve.

Dorian stared dumbly at it, wondering what of Sorscha's potions could cause blood to darken, then glanced at his father. He didn't know his exact thought process, had never, but assumed he, for a moment, wondered if Dorian had been harming his possessed soldiers.

And then the cut throbbed and the stain grew and Dorian was clutching his arm, throwing out a quick goodbye, and rushing to his room.

It was no real surprise that his father followed, finding Dorian shirtless as he tried to stem the blood.

"This is why you're seeing that healer." It wasn't a question, so Dorian didn't bother giving an answer. "I thought you might be dallying with another peasant."

The king pulled the cloth from Dorian's hand and took up cleaning the wound himself, sniffing at the blood. "What have you been doing to yourself? Your blood stinks of iron. You must know that's not truly suppressing anything."

He flinched, thoughts fumbling around his mind. "I...we thought it might work. We've been trying different combinations."

"Iron is for magic. Magic of this world." His father's tone was the scolding one he used to use before assigning Dorian a month worth of dance lessons. "It won't change your nature."

"My...nature?"

His father smiled at him, holding up the dark-stained cloth. "What happened? Did you get a cut and you noticed how dark your blood became? Or that healer did?" He shook his head, his free hand stroking through Dorian's hair in a disturbingly sentimental gesture. "You don't even know what you are, just that you should be scared. My fault, I suppose."

Dorian was frozen in place, too worried about what lay under the sudden affection his father showed. It seemed like he was talking about something other than Dorian's magic, but he couldn't even begin to guess what it was.

But something tugged at his mind, something about black blood from those books on magic, history, and his ancestors that he'd gone through for clues.

"Stop taking whatever vile concoctions you've been on," the king ordered. "And stop spending so much time around that useless healer."

"Or?" Dorian couldn't resist pushing, just a little.

His father smiled, a dangerous look. "Or I'll introduce you to being a Valg with her very painful death."

Valg.

Dorian felt sick, he just sat there and let his father leave without trying to protest.

"I'll send one of my own healers to deal with that cut, though our kind aren't prone to infection." His father paused just inside the door, glancing back at Dorian. "I didn't think you were mine, but since you are...I hope you realize how this will change things." His look was pure malicious glee. "We'll talk in the morning."


End file.
